


a city of black and white

by tamagotchitadashi



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: M/M, Strangers to Friends, both of them are gross and pretentious and ooc, this is the worst thign ive ever written and it took me so long
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-29
Updated: 2017-03-29
Packaged: 2018-10-12 16:56:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,122
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10495407
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tamagotchitadashi/pseuds/tamagotchitadashi
Summary: Akaashi Keiji of Fukurodani is the prettiest person he has ever seen."You look like the kind of person half of Tumblr would die to be," Issei says, lips etched into a smirk and his cigarette smoking lightly as he held it between two fingers.





	

The grey skies that loom above Issei are bruising lavender and a colour somewhere in the middle of red and orange with the threat of oncoming dusk, as he brings the cigarette to his numb lips and takes a drag of it, closing his eyes with a soft hum as he inhales as much smoke as he can.

The sunset is the only colour that he can see in his town. The whole place looks unsettling, so void of colour that if it wasn't for the modern buildings and a car here and there, it could be mistaken as an old photograph.

He makes his way to the bus stop casually, shielding his cigarette with a long-fingered hand so that the droplets of rain that fall around him don't put it out.

There's a person there already, sitting on the metal bench with a book in their lap; a dog-eared copy of Milk and Honey with faded ink and wavy pages like it had been left out in bad weather or something (If the person constantly found themselves caught up in weather like the rain that fell in massive droplets now, maybe that was the case). There is a reasonably big Kanken backpack by his feet, in a shade of yellow that isn't as pure and vibrant as their coat, and he decides that the best way to describe such a hue would probably just be "mustard yellow".

Issei can't see their face, as the hood of their yellow (He finds himself being drawn to the prominent, bright colour) PVC raincoat is pulled over their head completely, and everything is in shadow, little, indistinct parts only illuminated by the blazing shades of amber and red that shines through the patchwork of clouds that surrounded the grey, grey town that wraps around them and imprisons them with a dome of clouds in crimson and mauve and a goddamn lot of the grey that Issei detests so much.

But for a second their head is lifted, empty eyes boring bullet-shaped holes into Issei's chest, before they turn back to their book.

He knows that face, he thinks.

He has a brilliant memory, and a thirst for knowledge, and his friends - his team - are all the same about opponents. Issei and the other third years watch every game in the tournament that they could, even the ones they'd probably never play. For him, it's more to calm his stress more than anything. He prefers to feel in control, even if he is too laid back to take charge of anything.

Akaashi Keiji of Fukurodani is the prettiest person he has ever seen.

"You look like the kind of person half of Tumblr would die to be," Issei says, lips etched into a smirk and his cigarette smoking lightly as he held it between two fingers.

That makes Akaashi look up, snapping his book closed and looking right at the other boy, who sat beside him ever-so-casually.

"You play volleyball, right? I think I've seen you before," He tries not sounding creepy but he isn't sure if it works, "The name's Issei, Matsukawa Issei, and I'm a middle blocker from Seijoh. You can call me Mattsun if you like, a couple of my friends do," He introduces, holding out a hand.

Akaashi takes it, all long slender fingers and chipped bronze fingernails, shaking it a little limply.

"My name is Akaashi Keiji, Fukurodani's setter," Even his voice is pretty, quiet and calm and bordering on monotonous, and once they break contact he rubs at his covered collarbone, like he is uncertain.

"What're you doing in Miyagi if you're from Tokyo, then?" Issei asks, cracking a grin and turning his head away as he puffs on his cigarette, watching the smoke disperse in the rain.

"I was meant to be visiting someone, but he must have forgotten that we were meeting," Akaashi answers, staring down at his lap, executing the gesture with utterly perfect posture throughout.

"Have you called him?" Issei asks, his smirk fading and his bushy eyebrows furrowing in concern for this boy, this boy who he'd hardly met and this boy who he was probably going to end up trying his hardest to please.

Serious Mattsun was a rare sight, but somehow, after barely five minutes of knowing one another, it could be drawn out by Akaashi in seconds.

"I gave up on calling him about half an hour ago. I don't know his address, either, just his school. I know that doesn't sound wise, but we've met many a time before and he was going to take me to his home to stay over," Akaashi explains, his quiet voice sounding small and kind of hopeless, and it completely and utterly shattered Issei's heart.

"He doesn't go to Aoba Johsai, right? Because if he does, I totally deserve the rights to kick his ass," Issei asks, voice a little sharper, more attentive, than its usual drawl, and he thinks he sounds kind of fierce (as fierce as he could get, anyway).

A ghost of a smile passes fleetingly on Akaashi's lips, before his face furrows up again and resumes his sad frowny look, but to Issei's disappointment. "No, Karasuno. His name is Tsukishima Kei."

A brief moment of thought passes before Issei nods in recognition of the name. "Glasses, right? Looks like an asshole half the time?"

He doesn't know why he is asking for confirmation. He knows the name, knows the face. He is never wrong.

"Yes, that's him," Another split-second half smile from Akaashi, before his elegant hands (a pianist's hands, Issei finds himself deciding) find the hem of his canary yellow hood and pull it down, revealing tousled black hair and studded ears and a more defined view of such a beautiful face.

He can't help but stare at this boy who holds such beauty, can't help but drink in every little aspect of his features, like he is one of the girls who flock around Oikawa like he is some sort of idol (He's pretty sure there's a rumour that the pompous captain is one).

Speaking of Oikawa, it surprises him even more that he is so enraptured by Akaashi's beauty, because he generally associates (not on purpose) himself with pretty people.

There was dear Tooru himself, and that is self-explanatory (Most girls in the damn prefecture are convinced he's their future husband), Iwaizumi's a goddamn hottie hands down, Hanamak's utterly adorable, and Issei himself is quite good-looking, if he did say so himself.

But somehow Akaashi is different, beautiful in ways that he doesn't understand how to explain without understating it.

"Sorry for being so forward, but were you two like a thing, or...?" Issei makes a movement with the hand that isn't holding the smoking cigarette, before turning away again to take a long drag of it.

Akaashi takes a moment before answering, and he speaks hesitantly. "I suppose so, yes. We didn't really talk about it, just... acted on it. He swore he loved me, but Tsukishima isn't the type to commit to something easily. I think he is... not cheating on me, per se, but cheating on someone with me," It is quiet and Issei does not know what to say, so he blows smoke out of his bitten lips and takes another drag, drowning himself in the feeling of his lungs blackening and his breathing getting heavier, "I probably shouldn't be sharing all of this with you, Matsukawa-san, we've only just met and I'm already telling you my life story."

"Nah, don't sweat it. And don't bother with the formalities, either. So he really is an asshole, huh? Aside from all that, do you have any way of getting home, Akaashi?"

"No, I don't think so... My father lives in Korea and my mother is away, and Bokuto-san isn't answering his phone. It's alright. I can just stay here until the rain stops and then I'll get the train or the earliest bus to Tokyo," He wraps his arms around himself, swathed in such an outspoken and optimistic shade of sunshine-y yellow in a world full of miserable grey rain, his features illuminated by the rapidly fading sun.

"No way, can you call a cab? Do you have enough money? Look, if your phone's got charge then I could call one for you if you don't, I have money and it's not really a hassle, but you can't stay out and sleep in a goddamn bus stop for the rest of the night," Issei's voice is robbed of any of its usual chilled casualness that it had left in it, his hands finding Akaashi's slim wrists, and time stops when two pairs of dark eyes meet, one concerned and determined, the other surprised and half-defeated.

The rain pours down harder suddenly, and Akaashi flinches.

"My phone is dead."

The other boy lets out a string of curses and aims a kick at the bus stop.

"Then we'll find some place that has a working phone, then," He says, standing up. Akaashi just watches him as he goes about a routine that he had gotten down to a T; dropping his cigarette and twisting it into the ground with the toe of his heavy black combat boots.

"Are you sure? Honestly, Matsukawa-san, I'll be fine here..." Akaashi says haltingly as Issei holds out a hand for him, lazy grin returning to his lips.

"No, you won't. Listen, if you don't want me to be dragging you around to people's houses or whatever, I can just take you to my place and you can stay there for night and get a ride home in the morning," Issei's running out of alternatives and the last thing he wants is for Akaashi to stay here until dawn breaks out and there's a means of transport to his hometown.

"Are you sure?" The second-year repeats, twirling his fingers around one another in what seems to be an anxious gesture.

Issei smiles wider in what he hopes is a reassuring manner, before leaning forward and gently setting a hand on top of the twiddling fingers, in turn stopping Akaashi from doing that, which let the third-year take one of his hands gently.

"Please don't stay in here."

The sentence is short and simple but suddenly the slightly-shorter boy is leaning his head on Issei's shoulder, quiet and broken and absolutely exhausted, it seems - How did Issei not notice how distinct the bags under his eyes were earlier?

"Would your parents mind?"

"Hm?"

"If you let me stay with you for the night, would your family mind?"

"My ma won't be angry or anything, don't worry. My dad works the night shift, so he'll probably be getting ready to go to work by the time we get there. And don't laugh, but I still have bunk beds, so we should be fine."

A small smile curls up the corners of Akaashi's lips and it stays longer than the others, infused with a hint of relief this time as he picks up his bag and shoves his book inside it, and after that he pulls his hood back up and brushes his fingers against Issei's, who smiles and humours him, tangling their fingers together again.

"Thank you, Matsukawa-san."

"I told you, 'Kaashi, you don't have to be all formal. We're friends, right? Call me Mattsun, at least."

(Akaashi doesn't know what to say. He's friends with Bokuto-san and Kuroo-san and Kozume-san, and he still uses formal honorifics for them - though he sometimes switches to "Kenma-san" when Kozume wrinkles up his nose and portrays his odd dislike for the formalities and honorifics - and he supposes that he and Issei are friends, now, but they've only just met).

He doesn't know what to say about the nickname, either. It makes him feel kind of happy, all tingly down to the core, and that is a new feeling, a nice feeling, and he wants it to stay.

As they walk quickly through the downpour, he realizes that he wants Issei to stay, too, because he is a seemingly infinite source of the happiness that Akaashi misses feeling. The taller boy quietly radiates eternity, security, safety, and, for the momentary lack of a better adjective, it feels nice.

Issei watches Akaashi, looking so vulnerable yet somehow intellectual (in the odd, pretentious, perfect way that he is, like somebody who stepped right out of the aesthetic tag on Tumblr) as he is so deep in thought. He watches with a smaller, softer version of his usual grin on his face.

He feels fat droplets of lead rain roll down his face, his neck, his back and realises that he probably should've worn a better coat for this type of weather, something other than his mesh-like Adidas jacket (which didn't even have a hood), but he doesn't really care, even as the rain sticks his messy, tousled hair to his forehead and soaks his clothes so they stick in the most uncomfortable and tight way to his figure.

The two of them are walking so quickly they may as well be running, and Issei has said something stupid (he can't remember what he said) but it doesn't really matter, all that matters is that it must have been good because Akaashi is laughing and it is utterly ethereal.

He has a loud laugh, an absolutely wonderful sort of cackle, that comes with closed eyes and radiant vibes and he hides the huge smile that comes with it with one hand and goddamn, Issei thinks, he's probably actually a model in his spare time.

Soon enough they reach Issei's house, and he reaches into the pocket that holds his void-of-charge phone and house keys, instead of the one that contains his precious, half-empty pack of cigarettes, and jams the right key into the door, turning the handle and stepping instead, holding the door open so Akaashi could do the same.

The boy in question walks in (he follows the lead and rubs his feet on the little doormat outside in the porch first) and mumbles a "Pardon the intrusion", his smile subsided, before Issei slams the door, unintentionally making the both of them jump. His dad has already gone, by the look of it, and his mum comes striding out of the kitchen, still in her formal trousers and button-down from work, dark hair tumbling in untamable curls out of her up-do. Akaashi finds himself noticing how similar Issei looks to his mother, all dark hair and dark eyes and thick eyebrows and a sort of soothing laid-back comfort about them, that calms him no end.

"Issei, you didn't tell me you were bringing a friend over, I would've sorted something out for dinner. Good grief, get inside, you two are completely drenched," She says, frowning slightly in disapproval of their current state (and that means that they are dripping heavy rivulets of rain onto her carpet, freezing cold and soaked through to the bone).

"Sorry, ma, but I didn't realise until a little while ago. This is Akaashi Keiji, he's from Tokyo and he's in one of the volleyball teams over there. He was down by the bus stop and he couldn't get a ride home, see," Issei explains, as he leans down and unlaces his boots, peeling off the thin black garment that was once an Adidas jacket, holding it with pinched fingers as it drips rivers onto the carpet.

"Tokyo? Wow," His mother smiles, taking Issei's jacket, and she carries a similar warm energy to her son. "My name is Matsukawa Mariko, it's nice to meet you, Keiji-kun."

"Likewise, Matsukawa-san," Akaashi replies in that constantly calm tone of his, even sounding composed and polite with his slightly furrowed brow and as he twiddles his thumbs.

"Take off your coat, darling, I'll dry it for you," Mariko says, holding out her spare hand for the pretty yellow raincoat. Akaashi shrugs it off and hands it to her, and finally shows off what he's wearing underneath: all black, ironically enough. A form-fitting turtleneck, paired with black skinny jeans. He slips out of a pair of Timberland boots and puts them down neatly next to Issei's boots when gestured to.

He turns back to the taller boy, who smiles at him. "My ma's going to make food, and that might take a while, so d'ya wanna come up to my room for a bit?" Issei asks, and Akaashi nods, albeit a little shyly.

They walk up the stairs, and Issei can't help the slight bounce in his step. Once they get to his room, both of them sit down on the bed and Akaashi looks at him through long, dark eyelashes.

"I'm sorry for the inconvenience."

"Don't worry 'bout it," Issei answers, waving off Akaashi's apologies both figuratively and literally, as he waves a hand about while speaking. There is a rather painful silence between them for a moment, and then Issei decides to break it with a casual notion, "Tell me about yourself."

"What do you want to know?" Akaashi fires back immediately, and Issei shrugs. 

"Whatever you want to tell."

"I'm a setter, my favourite colour is yellow and in relation to what you said earlier, I don't actually have a Tumblr account, and I've only been on the site once or twice. I use Pinterest, though."

Issei laughs a little. "My mum uses that to make boards for her kitchen."

Akaashi smiles down at his slender, delicately crossed wrists for a fraction of a second, before his eyes flick up and latch onto Issei's, "That's actually rather fitting, considering the fact that I'm practically the mother of my team."

"Iwaizumi's probably the mother of mine. I swear, he's the only one of us third years with common sense."

The second year sighs in agreement, "Since Bokuto-san is one of the third years on my team, I can safely say that I have it worse."

"Nope, we have Oikawa."

"Oikawa doesn't seem like he'd be much trouble from what I've heard."

Issei stares at Akaashi with utmost horror, completely aghast at what the other was suggesting, shaking his head before arguing back, "I don't know who you've been talking with but whoever they are, they don't know Oikawa Tooru. He is probably the most petty, high maintenance person I have ever met."

"High maintenance? Now that's a word I can sympathise with."

Issei get up and argues back as he looks around his room for something, fishing a charger out of a drawer and handing it to Akaashi. "Hey, charge your phone."

"Thank you, Matsukawa," Akaashi says.

He's about to brush it off again but instead stills when he hears the soft-voiced phrase that comes afterwards.

"For everything."

**Author's Note:**

> this took me so long and its so bad but like... if you did enjoy please leave a kudos and a comment.  
> thank you for reading!


End file.
